


Unwavering

by verynotconcise



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Spoilers for The Death Cure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 08:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13737231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verynotconcise/pseuds/verynotconcise
Summary: It's in the six months between the scorch and the end that Newt realises his fatal flaw wasn't the limp in his leg, but his unwavering faith in Thomas.A song fic based on Pieces by Andrew Belle.





	Unwavering

**Author's Note:**

> for optimal reading experience, listen to Pieces by Andrew Belle or Walk Through The Fire by Zayde Wolf (ft. Ruelle)
> 
> this is not a fix-it. unbeta-ed.

_You and me_  
_Got ourselves a problem_

 

Sleep is getting harder to catch, a commodity rarer than water in the scorch. The guilt was keeping him up on most nights that he spent awake, thinking about the people who have left, the people who are left. It usually starts with the thought of Minho, wondering how his friend is spending his days in captivity. That is the thought that drives him to work every morning when his body is close to collapsing under the weight of his exhaustion. On some days, it starts with the thought of Teresa. He may not have the whole picture of their days from before the maze, but her betrayal still cuts deeper than he thought it would have.

No matter how his day starts, it always ends the same way: on his back under a flimsy cloth too thin to be a blanket, listening to the fire crackling a distance away and the snores from other people around who have successfully succumbed to sleep. That’s when he allows himself to think about those who have left for good, and those who are left. That’s when he allows his self-hatred to consume him. That’s when he wonders if things would have been better if he never believed in Thomas. At least then they were still be in the safety of the Glade, protected by metres of stone with a promise of tomorrow.

But the thought fades away as soon as it comes. He doesn’t know why, but he knows that he would always believe Thomas in the end. It doesn’t matter if Thomas looked any different or spoke any differently; from the moment that Thomas came out in that box and ran, from the moment that Thomas smiled at him with that hopeful innocence, from the moment that Thomas slipped out of his reach and into the maze, Newt knew that he would always end up believing in Thomas.

The same man who was doubting himself a distance away.

Thomas has been this way ever since Wicked had destroyed their base and left with Minho and Teresa. Thomas never said it, but Newt knew that Thomas spent every waking moment blaming himself for the things that he couldn’t have predicted, much less prevented. But that was just the way that Thomas was, and as much as Newt admired and liked his friend, those were the moments that he wished Thomas was less righteous.

Newt lay awake for a while longer before he decided to get up and accompany Thomas by the fire. Deep in his own thoughts, Thomas doesn’t hear Newt approaching until he sits next to him with slight difficulty, avoiding putting pressure on his bad leg. Thomas startles, pulling his head from his hands.

“Newt? Why are you awake?” Thomas asks, visibly confused.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

Thomas purses his lips as he clasps his hands together, bringing them to his lips like a man in prayer. It takes a long moment of silence before Thomas mutters softly, “I couldn’t sleep.”

This makes Newt smile wryly. “I think I can understand that feeling very well.”

Thomas looks down regretfully, probably blaming himself for it. Newt reaches out to place a cold hand on Thomas’ thigh, trying to grab his friend’s attention again.

“It’s not your fault. No one blames you for what happened.”

Thomas looks up, his eyes meeting Newt’s in an uncomfortably intense and loaded stare.

“That’s not true.”

“ _I_ don’t blame you for what happened.”

“You never do,” Thomas whispers, “even when you should.”

“And when should I blame you?” Newt pulls his hand away with a deep frown. Thomas chuckles, sad and self-deprecating.

“When I unlocked the gate with Minho and caused Alby’s death. When I helped Teresa to escape which led to her betraying us, led to Minho being taken from us.”

Ah, there it is. Teresa. Even after everything, Thomas still blamed himself for what Teresa chose to do by herself. He shouldn’t have to, it’s not fair to himself.

“You can’t keep blaming yourself for what Teresa chose to do. She decided to do what she wanted without consulting us.”

“And I’m any different?” Thomas snaps, “I chose to escape from Wicked too, and I didn’t have a plan, I didn’t tell or ask anyone what to do until it was done.”

Newt falls silent, unable to deny what Thomas had said. It was the truth. Sensing Newt’s agreement, Thomas mellows down, throwing his face into his hands again. “And look where that has gotten us.”

“You did what you thought was right for us.” Newt argues weakly.

Thomas shakes his head, “So did she.”

“It’s different.”

“How?”

Newt shrugs, “Don’t know, but it is.”

Thomas stares at Newt with a guarded expression for what feels like an eternity before it crumbles into something more recognisable, something Newt sees as incredulity.

“You’re ridiculous.” Thomas says at last with a soft laugh, and it is the best sound that Newt has heard from Thomas for a long time. Thomas was always speaking with a commanding voice and an air of confidence that feels more like trying to convince himself that everything would work out, and finally Newt gets to see the boy he met in the maze again, the one he decided to protect.

“Given everything that we’ve done, I’ll take ridiculous.” Newt replies easily. The both of them laugh again, remembering the impossible moments and frankly, stupid things they’ve all done to get to where they are now. It’s such a simple sound, but Newt never knew how precious it is, how rare it is to find it now - even more so than sleep. So Newt allows himself to let go in the moment and become a boy again, instead of the second-in-command that Thomas always looks to for guidance and support.

 

  
Newt doesn’t hear the entire conversation, but he manages to hear the parts where Thomas yells especially loudly.

“You could’ve gotten him killed!”

He can hear some indecipherable words from Jorge before he decides not to eavesdrop any longer, although he isn’t sure if it can be called eavesdropping if they were being that loud.

It was a messed up operation, as far as most of theirs go. It was supposed to be simple: dig the hole and go back to base. But things got complicated when Wicked picked up a radio signal in the middle of nowhere and decided to recce the area, and Newt being the slowest runner, almost got sighted had Jorge not pulled him into a ditch as tall as they were.

For Newt, the worst feeling wasn’t the pain shooting up from his leg, but the feeling of falling again.

Newt sighs, relaxing on the makeshift bed that was really just piles upon piles of cloth. Brenda walks up to him moments later with an easy smile as she flicks the syringe in her hand expertly. Just before she presses down, Newt’s hand catches hers in a vice grip.

“Do you actually know how to work this?”

The look she gives him is so withering that he backs down slowly, watching in silence as she presses it calmly, injecting the transparent liquid into his bloodstream. Newt winces at the sharp pain, but uncoils from his position as soon as the pain subsides.

As Brenda removes the needle, she cocks her head curiously. “So, why Thomas?”

Newt furrows his brows, not following the conversation. “Excuse me? What about Thomas?”

“You tell me. You always look at him like you would follow him anywhere, as long as he asked you to.”

Newt shifts uneasily, bringing his arm to his chest in a defensive position. “Anywhere is a strong word.”

“Hence why I used it.”

Newt eyes Brenda carefully, watching even the most minute change in her expression, waiting for a sneer or something close to that. But all he got was a curious but expectant stare back at him.

“Thomas saved me.” Newt answers at last. Brenda’s frown deepens.

“From what?”

From insanity. From myself. “From the maze.” he says.

Brenda’s eyes narrow sharply, as if sensing that he wasn’t being honest. But Brenda doesn’t know him like Minho and Thomas do, she doesn’t understand what they’ve seen, what they’ve been through. She’s an outsider, and even if she’s part of their group now, she’ll never completely understand him like the Gladers do. So Newt shrugs casually, ending the conversation.

Brenda offers him a small smile before she gets up and leaves. At least she understands him that much.

Thomas comes to Newt hours later, looking tired and worn out, everything that he was not when they first met. Thomas falls to the floor heavily, shoulders slouching and face set in a grim expression. They sit together in silence for a long time before Thomas finally turns to face Newt, looking more guilty than anything now.

“I’m sorry.” Thomas says solemnly, “I should’ve been more careful. I should have turned off the radio.”

Newt raises a brow, “And if you did, how else would we have known that Wicked was scouting the area until they caught us?”

“No, but the point remains. I should have been more careful.” Thomas shakes his head angrily, hitting his own thigh with a clenched fist. Newt catches Thomas’ hand before he can hit himself again, shooting him a concerned look.

“No, you couldn’t have been more careful. What happened today was an accident. Stop doing this to yourself, Tommy.”

“You could’ve died today.” Thomas whispers in fear, looking shaken at the thought, “Wicked could have taken you back.”

“But they didn’t. I’m still here.”

“But you almost didn’t make it.”

“Bloody hell, Tommy, stop focusing on what could have happened. Many things could have happened, but the important thing is that they didn’t.” Newt lay his hand on his lap, waiting for Thomas to hold it, which Thomas does hesitantly after checking around for other people. Thomas eyes their intertwined fingers morosely. “You’re not psychic, Tommy. You’re not going to be able to see the future and prevent shit from happening.”

Thomas shakes his head in agreement, “Probably not.”

“Yeah, so, let’s just focus on the future, on what we can actually change.” Newt says comfortingly, “We won’t lose anyone in the future.”

It takes a while for the words to register in Thomas’ head, but when it does, a smile cracks out on his face, hopeful but equally scared. “Yeah.” Thomas says, giving Newt’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah.” Newt replies.

 

_I can see this  
Better than I solve them_

 

Since his injury, the days pass even slower than they did before. He’s been reduced to doing the mundane work; preparing the food, washing up, cleaning their weapons and keeping track of their inventory. Newt doesn’t enjoy the thrill of teetering at death’s doorstep when he’s out there, but neither does he enjoy being treated like cracked glass that could shatter at the slightest touch.

It’s another slow day, with Newt in the middle of assembling the guns in front of him when Vince comes in with a storm on his face.

“We need more supplies.”

From the corner of his eye, Newt can see movement from where Thomas, Jorge, Harriet and Brenda were pouring over a wrinkled map. Newt can see the stiff nod that Thomas gives Vince, the one he now understands as ‘let’s talk elsewhere’. So before they can quietly move along somewhere far from Newt, he stands up and says immediately, “I’m coming.”

Thomas does a double take, “Newt,” he says loudly at first, and then dropping his voice to a whisper as he closes the space between them, wearing an oddly worried expression, “you’re injured.”

“Yeah, I’m injured, not invalid.”

“This could be dangerous. There could be cranks.” Thomas hisses.

“And yet you’re going.” Newt points out calmly, but he can feel the anger rising within him. This was some bullshit double standard. Newt can admit that he’s injured, but so is Brenda and Harriet, and Newt knows with absolute certainty that if they said they would come along there would be no objections raised from Thomas. He doesn’t say it, though, not wanting to start an argument with Thomas.

Thomas takes a deep breath as he leans in, as if preparing to make a sharp retort, but then the fight drains out of his eyes moments later and he takes a step back, looking off into the sand dunes stretching into the horizon miles and miles away.

“What’s the matter, Thomas?” Newt asks dejectedly, “Do you not trust me?”

“I trust you, and that’s why I can’t let you go.” Thomas replies, “You’re one of the only people left who I would trust with my life. I’ve already lost Minho, I can’t lose you too.”

“You won’t lose me.” When Thomas glances back at Newt tentatively with a line between his brows, Newt knows that Thomas was beginning to relent, he just needed a little push, “It’s the same for me, you know. I don’t want to lose you as well, which is why I want to come along. I told you in the Glade, we’re in this together. Even if everything has changed, this is still a promise that I will keep. You may be going to hell, but I won’t let you go in alone.”

A small smile creeps on Thomas’ chapped lips, he knows when he’s lost, “That’s a stupid promise to make, an even stupider one to keep.”

Newt chuckles, because it is true. It’s stupid. It’s so, so stupid, but he’s never regretted all the stupid choices he made for Thomas.

 

_I believe  
I found a way around it_

 

Newt sees it in the way that the hope in Thomas’ eyes fades out, the way his chest heaves in acceptance, the way that he walks out of that container far away from where everyone was cheering.

They were so close to Minho, and yet all those months of meticulous and painful planning couldn’t bring him back. They made a mistake. Objectively, their mission could be considered a success, but the absence of their brave and headstrong friend screams failure.  
  
Newt doesn’t try to catch Thomas that night, because he already knows that Thomas wasn’t leaving for paradise without Minho. And Newt wasn’t going to let Thomas return to hell alone.

Newt begins packing early in the day, while Vince was making the final arrangements for their final trip away from the chaos of the world. Guns, magazines, grenades, Newt throws everything that he could find into a small backpack and hopes that it would be enough to fight off the cranks, and maybe sneak into Wicked. He’s busy stuffing all the explosives into his bag when he hears someone clear his throat behind him, and with trepidation Newt turns around, fearing the worst.

But it is only Frypan he sees, so he sags with relief.

“What are you doing?” Frypan asks simply, rather calmly.

“Packing.” Newt says.

“By any off chance, you’re not planning on joining Thomas in his suicide mission to rescue Minho, are you?”

Newt freezes, but he doesn’t want to lie. “Are you going to stop me?”

Newt has never felt this nervous before; he can hear his heart hammering in his chest, the blood pulsing in his veins, and just for a split second, his vision goes awry. It’s a glitch in his sight, a moment of blackness before it was restored. But it’s the first time that he’s experienced it, so Newt blinks it away and chalks it up to exhaustion.

Frypan tilts his head to the side, still wearing a blank face before it breaks into a mischievous grin. “When have I ever stopped you guys, even when I was sure we weren’t going to make it out alive?”

Newt blinks in surprise. That was unexpected. “What?”

“Come on, Newt. We both know that shank Thomas is going to do it whether or not anyone comes along with him. I don’t know when you guys decided to do things by yourselves, but I sure wasn’t there when it was agreed on.”

“But this means that you might not come back.” Newt argues feebly, “You would give up your chance at a better, easier life and take the risk of dying again?”

Frypan’s grin softens, shrinking into a sad smile, “What’s the point of having a good life if I’m going to live with the knowledge that I left my friends behind? That’s why you’re following Thomas, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Newt says after hesitating. It’s easier to agree than to explain the ways that it’s different, because while Frypan may be another Glader, Newt doesn’t think that even he will understand the lengths that Newt would go to to keep Thomas safe. Frypan doesn’t understand how Thomas makes Newt feel like everything would be okay, even if the world was burning around them and falling into pieces. Frypan doesn’t understand the feeling of free falling into an abyss, and trusting that Thomas would be at his side throughout.

It’s the same reason, but it’s so, so different. It’s always been different with Thomas.

 

  
Newt doesn’t remember exactly what happened. He remembers Thomas walking ahead of them in the sea of people, right into the heart of the protest, and then he remembers an explosion. He remembers running. Nothing after that.

But he knows that he’s being driven somewhere. With the way that the driver swerves at such sharp angles, he must either be skilled or reckless, maybe even both.

He can hear muffled screaming next to him, but it doesn’t register in his memory bank. Everything is black and the world is swirling around him. For some reason, his head twitches once, a sharp twist to the side. It wasn’t something he did consciously, nor was it a reaction to any inflicted pain. The scariest part was knowing that it wasn’t a one-off occurrence, but something that has happened before, and something he knows will happen again.

It’s only after they’re given refuge under Gally’s word, and in the privacy of the small rundown bathroom that Newt dares to pull up the sleeves of his jacket. When he finds black lines running under his skin, he can’t say that he’s surprised. There was always a fear he hid in the recesses of his heart that he wasn’t immune, but Thomas always gave him hope that things may turn out differently. He didn’t show any symptoms within the few months they spent planning for Minho's rescue, unlike the mere days it took for Brenda to collapse and show signs of turning. But here it is, and unlike her situation, his seems to be on a path of deterioration.

Newt pulls down his sleeve as his fingers start to tremble uncontrollably. He quickly clutches his own hand, willing it to stop trembling, but it doesn’t work. He’s scared of what this might mean for him, he’s scared of turning into a crank and forgetting everything. Forgetting where he is, forgetting who his friends are, forgetting who he is. But above the cacophony of thoughts in his mind, one rings out clearly to him: he’s scared of how Thomas might react. Would Thomas leave him behind? Would Thomas kill him?

No, Thomas wouldn’t kill him, this was something Newt knew for a fact. Thomas would never allow anyone to kill him either.

Newt looks back at his hand, still shaking violently. It wouldn’t do. The disease was dormant for so long, festering in him, but now that it showed, it came with such ferocity that Newt knew it would only be a day or two before he lost himself. He didn’t want to die as a crank. If he was to die, he wanted to die as himself. Someone had to kill him.

He hopes that that someone wouldn’t have to be Thomas.

 

_I will leave  
This better than I found it_

 

Thomas is staring off into space in their direction, while Gally is wiping of any remaining blood from the nape of his neck. Newt jerks at the first touch of the knife, cold and sharp against his skin.

“Don’t move.” Teresa chides softly, pressing her warm fingers against his neck to steady him, “I don’t want to cut more than I need to.”

Newt acquiesced in silence, trying to remain as stoic as he can without any painkillers. Teresa works fast, her fingers moving with dexterity. It makes Newt wonder briefly how many times she’s done this to acquire that sort of precision. They were never safe from Wicked, they were always monitored even when they thought that they were safe. Was Wicked biding its time and giving them false hope when they ran away? From the start, they were already fighting a losing battle. Wicked always wins.

As Teresa begins to pull the chip out from his neck, she gasps quietly to herself. “You’re sick.” she breathes out in shock.

“That’s none of your buggin’ business.” Newt answers bitingly.

“Newt, this is serious. If it spreads at this rate..”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the crap. You aren’t breaking my heart with your sad story.”

“Newt, you are _dying_.” Teresa pleads, “Let me try to help you. Wicked exists to find a cure for people like you, Wicked is _good_.”

Newt whips around as soon as Teresa speaks finish, eyeing her with as much anger as he can muster without punching her in the face. “Good for who? Wicked may have good intentions, but its methods of reaching its end goals is despicable. Using us as lab rats, shutting out innocent people who are dying from starvation and thirst. I can’t imagine why Wicked would be any good.”

Teresa stares back defiantly, “You may not agree with our methods, but Wicked is good. You and I are much more similar than you think we are.”

“No, we are not similar. Don’t you ever say that again.”

“You’d do anything to keep Thomas safe.” Teresa says confidently, “Even if it means killing staff from Wicked that has nothing to do with this.”

Newt is the one who falls silent this time.

“I know what Thomas means to you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“How do you think he’ll feel if you died? He’ll be so hurt.”

“Because you’re the master at this, aren’t you?”

Teresa narrows her eyes, “You and I both know that things aren’t the same between Thomas and I anymore. I’m not the one he looks to for reassurance and comfort anymore, I’m not the one he wants by his side anymore. Imagine the kind of hurt you’ll inflict on him. But it’s not too late to change things. You don’t have to live like this anymore.”

“I was never given a choice on how to live. You guys decided that when you erased my memory and threw me in the maze.” Newt says as he stands up hurriedly, but the sound of the chair scratching against the floor catches Thomas’ attention. Thomas looks up with a worried expression, starting towards them. Seeing the window of opportunity close quickly, Teresa grabs onto Newt’s hand in a tight grip, squeezing it.

“I’m giving you a choice now.”

“You’re giving me a choice on how I want to die, and I will always choose to die on the side of my friends.”

Newt knows that that was a low blow, but he couldn’t help the words that slipped past his lips. He was hurt by her betrayal, what more Thomas, who supposedly remembers her from their time before the maze? Newt understands the motivation behind her actions, but he can never forgive her for what she did to them.

Teresa opens her mouth to rebut him, but Thomas arrives in time for her to look between them and close her mouth, pressing her plush lips into a thin line. One of Thomas’ hand finds itself on Newt’s lower back, comforting and drawing him close. Newt leans in naturally, and Thomas’ hand falls lower on his back.

“Is everything alright?” Thomas asks, watching Teresa warily. Newt catches the way that Teresa looks away, a faint cloud of hurt passing through her eyes as she does so.

“Yeah.” Newt nods. They share a look between them; it’s the one Thomas gave Newt before they run straight into the Griever hole, it’s the one that Newt gave him before they get into separate vehicles to rescue Minho, it’s the one that they now understand as unwavering faith and trust for each other. All it took was a single nod for one to understand that they could die the next moment, and the other would be right behind him, always accompanying, always protecting.

The hard look on Thomas’ face softens as soon as he sees Newt’s small nod. Thomas eases himself out of Newt’s proximity, taking a seat on the chair and exposing the back of his neck to Teresa. Newt begins to walk off, hand rubbing against the small cut on his skin as Teresa’s words linger in his mind long into the night.

The truth is, he knows. He knows that they’re no longer just Gladers, no longer just friends, and even though he knows that they’re not _something_ either, his death would hurt Thomas so much. But Newt knows that if he chose to help Teresa and Wicked, it wouldn’t be any better than dying, it might even hurt Thomas even more to know that the person he trusted so much threw everything away. He could have a shot at prolonging his life, but was it worth burning all the bridges he built? Was it worth leaving Thomas behind, letting go of the hand that held onto his so tightly?

Standing alone under a cloudless night, Newt wipes away the stray tears that have traitorously fallen from the corner of his eyes. Even if it wasn’t easy, the decision has always been clear to him. Teresa was right, they are much more similar than he’d like to admit, because he would always protect Thomas even at the cost of his life.

 

It’s that night that he begins to write a letter to Thomas, because he knew with absolute certainty that there was no coming back for him.

 

_There’s too much smoke to see it  
There’s too much broke to feel this_

 

Things have gone from bad to worse in more ways than one. The wall has crumbled and angry outsiders are flooding into the city, armed and ready to kill on sight. Their friends are dispersed and communication has broken down, and they’re not even sure what the plan is anymore. They are trapped in a room with Janson and his cronies trying to break the door open, and the only exit is by jumping through the window into a pool that may not even break their fall.

The worst part was the feeling of losing control of his body. Newt begins to feel his fingers twitch sporadically, his legs begin to give out under his own weight, and his vision blacking out for increasing periods of time. He’s perspiring much more than he should be, and even breathing is becoming extremely difficult to do.

But still, Newt tries to pull himself together. The door behind them breaks open, and the three of them turn around in horror. They don’t have a choice anymore. They never had a choice.

Thomas breaks the glass window and leaps through it, Newt feels his heart lodge itself in his throat. He doesn’t want to jump, he _can’t_ jump. Not again.

After Minho follows Thomas not a second later, Newt swallows back his fear. He touches the necklace in his pocket briefly before he runs straight, looking only ahead and never once casting a glance downwards.

And then he falls, and it is a familiar feeling he wished he never had to experience again. There is no stopping, he’s in mid-air with nothing to hold onto, and all he could do was pray that he would survive this just like he did before.

He plunges into the water and keeps sinking. His body is a weight that he doesn’t know how to lift anymore, his limbs float uselessly besides him as his breath escapes from him in big air bubbles. His vision is blurring and fading into black. ‘Is this how I’ll go?’, Newt wonders, because he doesn’t want to die like this. He hasn’t said a proper farewell to his friends, he hasn’t given the necklace to Thomas yet. He can’t die like this.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabs his wrist and pulls him upwards. Resurfacing and taking a breath of air is a great feeling, but it is seeing Minho and Thomas’ concerned looks that makes him want to cry. He doesn’t want to die, but he can’t be a burden to them anymore. He’s a dying man, and they still have a shot at a long life. If they keep carrying him with them, they’ll only be slowed down, and Wicked will be able to capture all of them this time. There will be no way out.

“Leave me.” Newt coughs, spurting out black blood along with his gurgled words. Thomas and Minho look ahead of them, carefully avoiding the burning vehicles and areas with resounding gunshots, not paying Newt any attention as they hold him between their bodies, protecting him from any bullets. “Just leave me.”

“Shuck it, Newt.” Minho yells angrily. “We’ve made it this far only to abandon you somewhere? I don’t think so. You’re with us until the end.”

“I’m slowing you down. There’s no cure.” Newt says weakly, “Leave me and go.”

“You never gave up on me, so I’m not giving up on you either, Newt. I’m not going to give up on you now, not ever. So don’t you dare to think about giving up on yourself.” Thomas answers quickly.

Newt’s chest constricts painfully as tears prickle his eyes, the black in his vision taking over again.

When he comes around, Thomas is instructing Minho to run back to the berg to retrieve the temporary cure. With a hazy mind, Newt chokes out the best goodbye that he can give to his friend at the moment without breaking down. Minho must understand that Newt plans to die, because he holds Newt’s trembling hand within his firm ones and offers him a smile, the brightest he can manage for anyone saying a final goodbye. A silent understanding passes through them, a look of gratitude for the times they held onto each other amidst the confusion and chaos.

Thomas picks him up again, limping heavily towards the berg.

“You need to hold on, Newt. We can make it.” Thomas breathes out heavily, “We can fix this.”

_We can fix you._

“Tommy,” Newt struggles to say through the blood clotting in his mouth, “There’s no cure.”

_You can’t fix me._

Thomas shakes his head, his grip on Newt’s waist tightening as he continues to drag them in the direction of the berg. There are tears sliding down Thomas’ dirty cheeks, creating clean streaks in their wake, and Newt wants to wipe them off so much. Newt tries to lift his free hand, but with how badly they shake all he does is slap Thomas twice before he gives up.

“We can fix this.” Thomas reiterates to himself, staring at Newt with tears glistening in his eyes and dried blood caking the side of his head. In the night with the fire in front of them being the only source of light, Thomas looks exactly like his fallen hero, broken and losing hope. Newt wants to hold Thomas to him and tell him that it's alright, because they’ve had their time, and now it’s time to let go. All he can do is try to smile and hope that Thomas understands. “We can fix this.” Thomas repeats, hopelessly and tiredly, holding onto those four words like a prayer.

Newt feels his body give up as he slips from Thomas’ grasp, onto the cold floor. He sees Thomas throw himself onto the ground after Newt, wide-eyed and mouth open.

_Thank you for being my friend._

“Newt!”

His vision is turning to black again, he can feel control slipping from him.

“Please, Tommy, please.”

And then it turns entirely black. He doesn’t remember anything until he feels something cold and sharp cut through his chest. It’s painful, it hurts so much. He doesn’t want to die yet, but this is another thing that he doesn’t get to decide for himself.

Newt begins to stumble backward, but Thomas is holding onto him, frozen in shock. It’s when their gazes meet that Newt realises that even if he didn’t get a choice in many things, at least he got a choice to die fighting with Thomas, his best friend, his confidante, the person he would have liked to hold closer.

“Tommy.” Newt gasps breathlessly, before he’s falling again. Thomas falls down at the same time he does, tears racing each other to the finish line.

Newt doesn’t know why, but he knows that he would always love Thomas in the end. It doesn’t matter if Thomas looked any different or spoke any differently; from the moment that Thomas came out in that box and ran, from the moment that Thomas smiled at him with that hopeful innocence, from the moment that Thomas slipped out of his reach and into the maze, Newt knew that he would always end up falling in love with Thomas. And Thomas always slipped out of his reach anyway - whether it was in the maze, the scorch, and even now in the city. Thomas was always ahead, beckoning Newt to follow, and no matter how hard he tries, he would always be lagging behind. Still, Newt would always try his best for his love.

And he did.

All those moments of crying by himself just so Thomas wouldn’t see it, all those moments of beating up his bad leg and tearing his hair out in bursts of uncontrollable anger, all hidden in the shadows so that all Thomas would see were smiles of the calm and collected Newt he knew from the start.

This was the first time that Thomas ever saw Newt breaking into pieces. This was the first time that _he_ was the one slipping out of Thomas’ reach, into a place where Thomas couldn’t follow him. The afterlife - if it exists.

It is the last time that Newt ever falls, and the first time he’s accompanied by someone on the way down. Thomas gasps painfully as he draws Newt’s body to his chest. Blood seeps through the thick uniform onto Thomas’ hands, but Thomas holds him closer, as if he could breathe life back into his friend, biting on his lower lip to contain the sobs that threatened to wreck him. Newt wishes he could have seen Thomas’ perfect smile one last time instead of making him cry like this, and Newt was sorry for it. His love was a weight around their necks, and they were sinking in the ocean. It was time to let go before it was too late.

He closes his eyes the same time that Thomas laces their fingers together for the last time, giving him that sudden burst of energy to open his eyes again and smile. It was tainted with black blood and black veins with tears falling from black eyes, but when Thomas holds his breath, Newt knows that Thomas understands everything he can’t say in words.

It wasn’t the way he thought that he would go - he never imagined such an undignified death - but being in Thomas’ arms as he feels his consciousness slipping for the last time is the most perfect way to go in that moment.

 

_I love you, I love you  
And all of your pieces_

 

  
Newt comes to Thomas in a dream. His skin is unblemished, his hair is full, and more notably, there is no limp anymore. When Newt catches sight of Thomas, the smile that envelopes his face is one that Thomas has never seen before. It is brighter than the sun, warm and inviting. Newt walks towards Thomas with open arms, and a carefree laughter that Thomas tries to commit to memory.

“Tommy,” Newt greets casually, “You’re looking good today.”

“Newt.” Thomas says in wonder, patting his friend just to check that Newt is really there. Newt gives Thomas a weird look before it breaks into a grin, teasing and joyful.

“Don’t look so shocked to see me, Tommy. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Thomas shakes his head, smiling back at Newt as hard as he can, “Don’t say dumb things like that. It’s not funny.”

“You still laugh at it, anyway.” Newt points out, playfully pushing Thomas.

They talk for a long time in the middle of the Glade. It’s just them in the day, with the gentle breeze blowing at them and little bugs scurrying across with sharp cries, and it’s oddly comforting to be sitting with their backs against the fallen trunk, as they did so many months before. Back when everything was simpler, back when no one had to die, back when the only loss they knew were their memories. They were confused and angry, but they still knew what happiness was like back then.

Or at least, Thomas knew what happiness was back then. It usually came in the form of a lanky body with a weird accented deep voice, and a crooked smile that Thomas found a home in.

Newt notices Thomas’ reticence, smiling at their jokes but never quite reaching his eyes. Edging closer to his friend, Newt asks Thomas carefully, “Are you happy?”

Thomas closes his mouth, smile falling from his face. He should’ve known better than to try and hide his feelings, Newt always knows how he feels anyway.

“Honestly? I’m not happy.” Thomas admits softly, “Ironic, isn’t it? We’ve tried so hard to escape Wicked, and now that we have it all, I’m still not happy.”

“That’s because you think that the pursuit of this paradise wasn’t worth what was given up.”

“Yeah, it really wasn’t.” Thomas confirms, and then he asks sadly, “What about you, Newt? Are you happy?”

A small, gentle smile forms on Newt’s pink lips, as his eyes grow into half moons and crinkle at the edges, “I am, Tommy. I’m really happy.”

Thomas wakes up abruptly from his dream, quickly looking to his side where Newt used to sleep, now replaced by an empty space. His hand slides over the space as his thoughts wander back to his dream, to the smile he used to love.

And then Thomas begins to cry. He cries long and hard for his friend who only found happiness after a lifetime of pain and suffering. He cries long and hard for a love he never realise he had until it was lost.

**Author's Note:**

> to tell the truth, i fell into a funk after watching tdc because all i could think of were the in between moments between the boys, and i struggled a lot to attempt writing my emotions into coherent sentences.
> 
> thank you sy, once again you have been there for me when i was ugly crying throughout the movie to bearing with my 'sad songs while thinking of newt/thomas' phase after the movie. speaking of which, feel free to talk to me about sad songs i'm always up for more heartbreak and tears. ;;


End file.
